


Times like now

by nofeartina



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Evakteket SKAMenger Hunt, Facial, M/M, PWP, blowjob, long johns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 07:21:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17116940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nofeartina/pseuds/nofeartina
Summary: Isak watches him, looks into Even’s eyes with what light’s left, watches his mouth go slack as Isak slowly puts his hand inside the fly and pulls out Even’s dick.He’s so hard.Isak wants to worship him, wants to show him how perfect he is.





	Times like now

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes a girl sees a prompt for long johns and thinks: "hmmmmm. What if... blowjob?" And that's kinda the entire reasoning behind this fic. xD
> 
> Pure smut, barely a hint of anything else, consider yourself warned (or intrigued). ;)
> 
> Thank you Champagneleftie for betaing (<3) and thank you Cola, Kit, and Immy for hosting these fun challenges. I guess I ended up contributing after all. :D
> 
> Enjoy, my friends.

Sometimes it’s like this; Isak taking his time, slowly pulling Even apart. Getting him loose and so, so wet, dripping with need, begging and moaning. Body red and glistening with sweat, knuckles white from how hard he’s gripping the sheets.

Sometimes it’s like this; lazy morning sex, gentle, lingering kisses that never end, not even when everything feels too good. Listening to Even sigh into his ear and feeling his breath on his neck.

And then there are times like now; frantic, insatiable, inevitable. Everything feels too slow, too little. Not enough. And Isak’s chest feels too small for how much he wants to possess.

It used to upset him, embarrass him. This feeling growing inside of him, filling him until it’s all he can live and breathe, until his entire world comes down to this.

It’s still dark in the apartment, no light except from the street below and the string of Christmas lights that they’ve managed to put up. Just enough light that Isak can see Even’s contours. But he doesn’t really need to, he already knows everything about Even.

They haven’t made it past the hallway. Both are still fully clothed, beanie and scarfs and jackets and wet boots still on. Even is pushed against the wall, held there by Isak who doesn’t let up.

He doesn’t care if he’s starting to sweat in his jacket.

His entire world boils down to this; to Even’s tongue in his mouth, the moans and sighs he’s swallowing, Even’s hands fisting the back of his jacket.

Fuck.

It’s good, it’s already so good, even though it’s not enough. Isak pushes harder, wants to crawl inside, wants to cover every centimeter of Even.

Make him know that he’s his, that they’re each other’s.

Isak needs, needs like he hasn’t in a while. Needs to taste, to feel, to touch. To own.

And Even lets him.

He stands there, holding Isak close, letting him set the pace, decide what’s going to happen. God. He’s so perfect. If Isak wasn’t already head over heels in love with him, this would surely do it.

The way Even just yields to him, grows pliant against him, it turns Isak on to no end. Makes him frantic like nothing else.

Even is never like this anywhere else. He’s not thorny or angry, but he doesn’t give easily either.

Except. Like this he does. And it ignites a fire inside Isak, makes blood roar in his veins, in his ears. Makes his entire world shrink down to this.

He’s going to make Even feel good. He’s going to make him forget anything else, reward him for being exactly what Isak needs.

Mid-kiss Isak drops to his knees. The wet smack of their lips parting resounding in his ears, along with the surprised sound Even makes as he looks down at Isak. Isak’s knees _hurt_ with it, but he doesn’t care. Nothing matters but this, but what pleasure he can impart on Even.

“I’m going to blow you until your legs give out,” Isak says, eyes on Even’s just long enough that he sees his lips fold over a fuck and then he’s pushing Even’s jacket up, trying to get it out of the way so he can get his pants open.

Even’s wearing those tight jeans today. He looks incredibly good in them but they’re a hassle to get off him. Isak sighs impatiently but starts working on the belt, the button, the zipper, the price ready in his mind. The thought of that warm dick just on the other side, ready for him. He’s so close that he can almost feel the weight of it on his tongue, can almost taste the bitter precum. He wants it. He wants it so bad, bad enough that his hands are shaking with it.

Making it hard for him to work the zipper, to pull down Even’s pants.

Even’s jacket keeps falling, keeps setting him back and Isak is panting from it now, from how close he is. 

Even puts a hand on his jacket, holding it up, and puts the other in Isak’s hair, gently stroking him. Like he’s trying to ease Isak’s annoyance.

Isak doesn’t want comfort. He wants Even to grip his hair so tight that it makes his scalp itch.

So he tugs on the pants forcefully, moves them a bit down Even’s thighs, pulling Even with him.

And now Even’s laughing.

Great.

Isak gets it, he does. Isak’s desperation is probably a funny sight, the way Even’s clothes are fighting him. Except there’s no humor in Isak right now. Only this simmering frenzy that won’t go away, that won’t ease up, that makes him sweat harder in his clothes.

He wants.

He doesn’t look up at Even, but he hears his laughter slowly taper off when Isak doesn’t respond.

And Isak tugs again. This time it’s enough that Even’s pants go under his hips, just under the swell of his ass, enough to make Isak pause with what he sees there.

“Long johns?” he mutters and looks up at Even.

He shouldn’t have, he really shouldn’t. Even’s shoulders are shaking with laughter, he’s looking up instead of looking down at Isak, chewing his lips to keep it in.

Seeing Even like that doesn’t lessen the desperation. But it does make Isak’s sense of humor return and he can’t help smiling.

“Why are you wearing so many clothes?”

Even finally looks down at him.

His face splits in a wide smile, eyes crinkling and disappearing, those two teeth making small indents in his lips.

God. He’s so beautiful.

He’s hit with it, this knowledge, this realization. That Even isn’t laughing at him, not really. He’s not laughing at Isak’s desperation or his inability to get him naked.

He’s laughing because it’s Isak, because he wants it just as much.

Fuck. _Fuck._

Sometimes he doesn’t understand how it can still be like this, how after all this time he still wants Even so much. He’s had him in every which way, but somehow, it’s just not enough.

It’s never enough.

The smile dies on his lips, his entire body starts shivering as white-hot heat fills his stomach, makes his dick throb and ache.

He wants him, he wants him, he _needs_ him. Everything else disappears, just this desperate desire to get closer, to get more, more, _more._

“Even,” he croaks, voice dry and hoarse, sounding fucked-out already.

Even’s laughter dies down immediately, Isak watches him swallow, watches his adam’s apple jump in the long, pale column of his throat, the air between them growing tense and tight with anticipation.

Isak watches him, looks into Even’s eyes with what light’s left, watches his mouth go slack as Isak slowly puts his hand inside the fly and pulls out Even’s dick.

He’s so hard.

Isak wants to worship him, wants to show him how perfect he is.

Nothing goes through his mind but that as he leans in and licks over the head.

He tightens his grip on Even’s dick as the taste of precum explodes on his tongue. A moan claws its way out of his throat, resonating through his chest, but it’s muffled by Even’s dick already filling his mouth.

He can’t wait anymore, takes it in as far as he possibly can, ignores the stretch and the burn of his throat but pulls off before it becomes too much.

And then he does it again.

This time Even’s dick is already wet with spit and goes down easier and he doesn’t stop until the coarse wool of Even’s long johns rubs against his chin and nose.

“Jesus,” Even mutters above him, and then his hand in Isak’s hair folds and pulls.

Isak’s dick throbs, pulses with need. He ignores it, pushes himself further, swallows Even’s dick again and again, the sounds pouring from Even music to his ears.

He almost feels high with it.

Here. On his knees, stuffed full of his boyfriend, spit and precum dripping from his chin down his jacket. It’s like a benediction, like a rite of passage.

He belongs here. Making Even feel good, making him lose control.

Isak puts a hand on Even’s hip, pushes him back against the wall forcefully, shows him who’s really in control here. There’s really no need to, Even is barely moving as it is, but there’s something about this that makes Isak want to push, makes him want to use his strength. Makes him want to immobilize Even against the wall.

Isak loves when Even holds him, feeds him his fat dick, chokes him on it.

But tonight, Isak doesn’t need Even’s pull to make him choke, he manages just fine on his own.

He’s aggressive about it, pulls off only to catch his breath before he dives back in, forces Even in deeper and deeper until he’s so full he can barely breathe.

He closes his eyes, ignores the tears falling as he does, focuses on how Even fills him up. How good he smells here, of warmth and sweat and home and sex, the way he twitches against the roof of his mouth, against the soft flesh of his tongue, how Even’s hand feels in his hair.

He’s so good, so perfect. Isak wants to give him everything.

His knees are throbbing, aching, the skin of his nose and chin growing sensitive with the repeated rasp of the wool, but he doesn’t care. How can he, when Even is making those sounds above him, praising him, gasping and moaning, calling his name over and over again like a prayer.

There’s nothing but this. Nothing but them.

The entire universe narrowing down to this exact moment – of Isak blowing Even against the wall of their apartment until he’s reduced Even to a babbling mess.

It’s very, very satisfying.

As is the way Even’s grip tightens, the way he mutters, “I’m coming. Fuck, Isak. I’m-"

Isak immediately pulls off, uses the spit to work him with his hand instead, sliding up and down the length fast, hard, tight, as he opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue.

He makes sure he looks up at Even as he does, knows perfectly well what the image of him sitting on his knees like this in front of Even does to him and this time it’s no different.

Even starts coming with a long, throaty moan, a sound pulled from somewhere deep inside, and the first string of cum lands wet and hot and sticky over Isak’s face, from his forehead, down his nose to the top of his lip, startling him. He barely manages to close his eyes before the next string lands, this time covering him from eye to chin. And then the next focused on his lips. Even puts his hand over Isak’s and uses that grip to guide his dick into Isak’s mouth, dick pulsing on his tongue as he feeds him a new glop of perfectly tangy cum, pushes it into his mouth, making it water even more. He keeps his tongue out as Even pushes in a bit further until he has to pull it back to swallow everything down.

Even’s dick pulses on his cheek as he does, the last remnants of cum pushed from it, running down Isak’s face, making him sticky and filthy. Marking him.

Isak’s eyes are closed, eyelashes caked together with cum, he’s panting, own dick pulsing and insistent in his pants, but he keeps sitting there. And then Even slides his dick over, leaves a wet trail from Isak’s cheek to his mouth and runs the tip, wet and viscous, over his lips. Like he’s putting lipstick on Isak with it, or chapstick. Covering Isak’s lips with it.

And it’s all Isak can do to sit still.

He’s shaking, every cell in his body vibrating from holding back. From how much he wants to come, wants to pull out his dick and pull it until he feels the release everywhere.

It won’t take much.

He’s so high-strung, so full of stress and desire and want and tension, he needs to get it out, he needs to move and do something. Anything.

But Even stays, running his dick slowly over the curve of Isak’s lips, over the length of his bottom lip. Saying things like, “Fuck, I love your mouth,” as he pushes the head through, gently, easily, until it meets Isak’s teeth and he pulls back to do it all over again.

The cum is starting to dry on Isak’s face, pulling on his skin, clumping on his lips and cheeks.

But he doesn’t dare move.

He stays, on sore knees, on straining thighs, with his body feeling like it’s ready to explode.

He stays.

“Lick it,” Even whispers.

And Isak does. He puts his tongue out, runs it over his lips and Even’s dick still resting against them. Licks the cum off his lips, hungrily, needily. God, he wants it so bad. He’s getting more and more frantic with each passing second. Until he’s licking Even clean as well, tongue stroking his sensitive flesh, ignoring the hissing sound of complaint from Even.

He even fights it when Even pulls him off with the grip in his hair, until Even is so insistent about it he has no choice. As soon as he’s off he leans back in, cheek against the soft, but still rough fabric of Even’s long johns, nuzzling against Even’s softening dick with the other. He fights his own pants, nearly ripping the buttons off in his eagerness to get to his dick.

The relief when he finally gets his hand around it is so enormous that he nearly sobs with it. There’s no finesse, no slow exploration. There’s just the desire to come, to go faster, more, harder, more, and he strips his dick with fast staccato movements, tightening his fist around it until it’s almost too much, too hard. His entire body is buzzing and vibrating, the smell of Even’s cum filling his every pore, surrounding him.

He comes like that, mouth open against Even’s long johns, fully clothed, sweating like a pig with his eyes shut tightly and crusted over with drying cum.

He comes and comes, doesn’t care where it goes, just works his hand over and over and over his dick, reveling in the release and the waves of pleasure washing over him, making him lose control and sanity for a few blessed seconds.

Until he’s done. Until he has no more to give.

Sitting there, feeling used in the best of ways, panting, shivering, leaning against Even with his entire weight. If it wasn’t for him, Isak would fall over.

His mind is blessedly empty. Nothing, no thoughts or plans or revisions. Just him, just them.

Even coos over him, runs soothing hands over his hair and his shoulders and what else within reach.

Isak lets Even push him back a bit, lets him use something to dry the cum off his eyes and his face until it’s safe for him to open them again.

He knows they’re red and puffy from tears, from cum. But that doesn’t matter when the first thing he sees when he opens them is Even looking at him like he’s a revelation. Like he’s _everything_.

“Even,” he whispers, wants to say so much, wants to tell him everything. Except that one word is all that comes out of his mouth. He hopes it’s enough, hopes that Even will know enough just through that.

Even leans in, puts his forehead to Isak’s, nudges his nose gently with his, and his eyes are so soft.

Isak’s brimming with it, with how much this moment means, he’s barely able to contain it.

“I love you,” he mutters, low and meaningful, against Even’s lips.

Even doesn’t smile. He brushes his lips over Isak’s, soft, gentle, the tip of his tongue poking out like he’s tasting himself there.

“And I love you,” Even whispers back.

The world has stopped moving, there is only them.

Isak doesn’t know how long they stay there, it’s easy not to keep track of time when it’s like this. But his legs barely manage to unfold by the time they finally get up.

Isak sits down heavily on the bed, still in his outerwear, still in his boots, sits there and watches Even undress. Watches Even pull at the elastic of the long johns, laughing at the state of them, caked in cum and sweat and spit and looking up at Isak with bright eyes.

“That’ll teach you to wear so many clothes,” Isak says and laughs at the indignant sound Even makes. He feels so loose, so at ease in his body. Like he’s lost every bit of pent-up tension in their hallway.

He knows he should get up, should take off his clothes, should go clean up and brush his teeth. Instead he just sits there, on their unmade bed, watching his boyfriend undress and listening to the familiar timbre of his voice.

He doesn’t want to move from this spot and lose this content, easy feeling in his body. This feeling of how this is more than enough, this is everything.

There’s always so much to worry about, so much to do and to figure out. But for now, there isn’t. For now, there’s just him, just Even, just them.

So he stays.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yeeaaaah. Sorry, not sorry. This is probably the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written. I hope you liked it anyway. ;) ;)
> 
> If you did, every kudos and comment fill me with Christmas cheer. Just saying. hahaha
> 
> Merry Christmas and happy holidays, my friends! <3
> 
> I'm [nofeartina](https://nofeartina.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, come play!


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